Blade Wing softly danced, dispersing the dust and smoke as it began to search for life signs and visibly inspect the battlefield.
Vibration detection: No anomalies;
Heat signature: None;
Air pressure: No significant changes;
Conclusion: Combat objective achieved 100%, extermination effect as expected.
No signs of life - heartbeat, breath, body temperature - could be detected from this land anymore.
The ground beneath had soaked up the bodily fluids of humans, turning brown from dehydration and oxidation. Countless cracks spread out in all directions. Rocks and soil mixed with metal and flesh, and an odd stench lingered long in the air.
Without a doubt, the slightly spring-like scenery was no more. What presented itself now was the torn and discarded entrails of a wilderness.
Standing amidst this debris at the core of the hell he created, the Asura field's sole life form remained as still as a statue.
This was not out of fear;
This was not a display of disgust;
This was not a sigh of sentimentality;
This was not a poetic ode;
Li Lin was an entity void of the concept of emotion.
He could observe and detect the emotions and physical responses of others and simulate appropriate reactions of joy, anger, sorrow, and joy. However, as an artificial life form—an end product completely different from its human creator in essence and perspective—he was only interested in purely achieving his objectives and strived to make the results as expected. Human-like sentiments would never genuinely manifest in him.
Yet, due to his unique appearance and demeanor, many observers around him projected their thoughts and emotional colors onto his evaluation of the killing effect, which then catalyzed a variety of emotions.
Fear,
Doubt,
Joy,
Surprise,
Terror,
Curses.
All these emotions and thoughts transformed into heartbeats, blood pressure, and body temperature changes, feeding back into his perceptual field, being analyzed and converted into information, and then strategies were developed accordingly.
After a moment of silence, Li Lin made a move.
He took a step with his left foot from the center of the tragic battlefield towards a hill that had not been affected by the shockwave. His right foot stepped onto the muddy, soft ground, causing the soft soil layer to collapse into a small pit. The distance and time it would have taken a galloping warhorse to cover was negated with a seemingly casual step, and the scenes of the Asura purgatory were replaced by a crowd of sweaty men.
"There's a saying that goes 'Three Strikes and You're Out', meaning that unpleasant things can only happen three times."
His seemingly gentle smile was captivating, as it brooked no room for distraction, let alone for thinking about retorts. His lethal wings spread smoothly behind him, and then the young man erected his middle finger.
"To pursue that Elf maiden, you ran into us, which is the first strike. Then to achieve your goal of silencing us, who witnessed this, you gave attack orders to the Blue-Eyed Dire Wolf."
Simultaneous to raising his ring finger, the Blade Wing began to slowly rise.
"The second strike was an attack combination of a night raid, besiege, and traps. Honestly speaking, the professional behavior you exhibited was passable."
His little finger leisurely separated from his palm, gradually becoming perpendicular to the ground under their horrified gaze. The men in black stared at the blade that reflected the warm sunlight into a glaring cold light, cold sweat continuously poured from their bodies, slid over their trembling skin and dripped onto the ground.
"This time you were originally planning to act in conjunction with the cavalry, but they withdrew a little too quickly. Now you don't even get the chance to participate."
The little finger that had just completed stretching returned to the palm, the lump in the men's chests began to disperse, and some people exhaled a long pent-up sigh.
"However, we don't necessarily need to abide by the rules all the time, right? After all, this world is constantly changing."
In his joking laughter, even the words he just said were overturned, and there was a sense of mockery. The Mach 3 high-speed slash wouldn't allow for the sound waves to disperse, instead they accumulated, the booming noise echoing in everyone's eardrums, penetrating deep into their brains—the seat of their souls. The men, their faces void of color, covered their ears, curled up and kept muttering incoherent sentences, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
Laughable, farcical, absurd—their current conditions couldn't be better described than by these words, those who casually killed others.
In the face of death, only those who are enlightened, desperate, or mad can remain calm. These men had neither the opportunity nor the qualifications to step into the realms of the aforementioned categories. Even if they were physically strong, even if their hands were stained with countless blood, even if they were full of malicious heart. They were as afraid, desperate, and feared death just like ordinary people.
"Choose, survive? Or destruction?"
At this moment, he holds godlike power to dictate the fate of others at a whim, yet it doesn't necessarily mean that he'll treat every life as fairly as the god with the cheap commercial image of 'the cloaked figure with a scythe.' His stance, his course of action, would never resort to such a farce for nonexistent entertainment purposes.
Introducing the ancient question was definitely for—
"We...we beg to serve you, great lord. Please have some mercy, forgive our foolish, disrespectful deeds, and allow us to offer our loyalty to atone for those imbecilities. We are your humble servants, willing to dedicate everything to you without hesitation."
Kneeling on the ground, with foreheads pressed against the cold floor, bodies dominated by terror, plead for their life, hoping to find a ray of hope amidst ruthless claws.
"... there is a lack of sincerity."
A faint wrinkle appears between his brows, and he lips a sentence that might as well have been a death sentence.
"Is this it? Just some flattering words and promises of submission? Don't you think it lacks sincerity?"
Anyone with the least bit of cunning wouldn't be naive enough to trust a group of assassins who've targeted him three times, taken in by mere words of loyalty. Li Lin, arms crossed and arrogantly regarding the assassins, certainly possesses more than just a bit of cunning.
Assassins who change employers as the norm hardly possess a sense of loyalty. They reserve their loyalty for gold coins. Life is weighed against mere words which have no weight at all. They must offer something substantial. If they can't grasp this simple point, time shouldn't be wasted on them.
Time should never be wasted, it is precious. But the same concern doesn't extend to the lives of others.
Those clever enough understand this and they have their own strategies.
"Er...we know some people who handle gold, both in terms of smelting and selling."
"At least this one has some sense."
A chuckles escapes him, Li Lin's comment is full of praise and approval.
If the assassins proffered unverifiable, impractical empty promises such as "willing to provide all information on the Count," "willing to assassinate the Count and the Archbishop," Li Lin would have already beheaded them.
Handling gold... it offers scope for action and tangible possibilities, and is extremely tempting. Li Lin already has Alberish and his channels, but it should still consider measures to distribute risk. Moreover, this arrangement could stimulate some healthy competition among the group.
To put forth such a proposal when one's life hangs in the balance demonstrates quick wit and excellent ability to understand the psychology of his target—an invaluable asset for an assassin.
This assassin fits his plans, but he needs to remember whose command he responds to and uphold the correct work ethic.
"These are just your words. There's no physical evidence to back them up. Can mere verbal agreements guarantee your survival?"
"You can check this."
As the black cloak unfurls, a few shiny round objects tumble onto the ground. The black fog recedes.
A Blade Wing stretches towards the gleaming objects below. With a dexterity more nimble and skillful than an experienced craftsman, it manipulates the coins. Based on the feedback from the data, the assassin's claim appears to be substantiated.
"Counterfeit money?"
"Yes, my lord. I know some counterfeiters."
A surprising gain, but with no time for contemplation, the mind begins to compute the links. In the blink of an eye, a rough outline appears.
Clear enough, the Count's wages fell short of the assassins' expectations. Until the labor dispute could be resolved or a less parsimonious new employer identified, the assassins embarked on this sideline.
These men have an underground network unknown to the world. There are numerous connections with various underground industries. They go about their activities of trafficking information, smuggling weapons, human trafficking, money laundering, and counterfeit money dealings, among others, in this world untouched by sunlight.
From what Li Lin knew, the world's anti-counterfeiting technology and related physical knowledge were virtually null. Besides alchemists who constantly interact with various metals, leading to all sorts of ailments, ordinary people rely on basic manual techniques and experience to detect counterfeit coins. This leaves plenty of room to play with.
From the analysis of these counterfeit coins, the creators put in considerable effort in manufacturing them and achieved what could be described as a 'breakthrough'— gold-coated lead coins deceivingly convincing was a commendable achievement.
The counterfeiters are indeed talented. Some adjustments in the plan could be considered.
"I accept your loyalty. State your name—the name I will use to command you."
The atmosphere is devoid of the stifling aura of murder and a smile creeps onto the boy's face, resembling the joy one feels when petting a delighted pet.
"Gunther. I am your humble servant, Gunther Vali. My men and I are your daggers, with the hilt in your hands."
Without the slightest negligence, the reverent and humble voice emerges from under the sharply contrasting black cloak, responding to the new sovereign. The other assassins genuflect on the ground, motionless, waiting for the new master's command.
The assassins, who once teetered on the edge of death, are now keenly aware that the slightest errant action will result in their beheading. Accepting their allegiance allows them to live, yet acknowledging the invisible sword overhead might fall at anytime.
The fact that their lives hang on their new master's whim remains unchanged, and will always remain so.